


The Ideal

by JessicaPendragon



Series: Canon Keela Lavellan [16]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Solavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9521966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaPendragon/pseuds/JessicaPendragon
Summary: “What would you have become, if not for your magic?”Tumblr Link





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have ideas about why Solas chose the whole apostate act.

“What would you have become, if not for your magic?”

The words ripple across the warm water around them, curl about in the steam rising into the air. Josephine has her clawed, copper tub, but the Inquisitor has a porcelain one large enough for two with gold leaf and elegant flowers painted on the outside. It could be any color or shape with rust building on the bottom -Keela only cares about the cleansing water washing away every evidence of her last mission, the strong heartbeat against her back bringing her home.

“Hmm?” She hears him but barely, like she’s submerged in the night and candles and calm all around. Fingers follow the line of her shoulder, drop into the hollow of her throat, and she’s drifting away with every caress, receding farther and farther the further he goes. 

“Do you recall our conversation within Haven, when we first spoke of the Veil? I postulated that without it spirits would be able to walk freely into this realm, that the Fade would be a part of nature.”

She grumbles, half in acknowledgement and half in hopes he’ll simply let her mind stray. Lips curl against her temple, press there in appeasement for his continuing transgressions against her restful silence. “It stands to reason that magic would therefore be as common as blades of grass, no longer confined to the hands of mages alone. There would be no need to be kept to the role of a Keeper, or others caged by the Circle. In such a world, one’s potential could be limitless. ”

“I have the feeling you have ideas. I would rather hear your thoughts than guess my own right now.”

“As you wish.” His voice dips and slows, a tone he only uses for her when the doors are closed and he is open, and she sinks deeper and deeper. A thumb follows the line of her jaw before tracing lips, dragging them open with gentle suggestion, and her pleasure pools lower, the promise of a different ache building to replace the worn torn travel in her bones. 

“An orator in the great halls of a republic, perhaps? You have shown to possess quite a skill for swaying crowds towards your desires, collecting templars and mages, Qunari and Tevinter. That you have has had little to do with the power in your palm but that in your sure words and actions.” 

“And have I ‘collected’ present company with my skills as well?” she asks.

Laughter trickles down her neck, tickling skin like drops of cool water. “I fear it to be true.”  

His hands move over her toned arm, down her side and across tight muscles that shiver even as he works out knots. There’s a buzz of bliss in her ears - it fills her up and slips out in a sigh that’s thankful as he continues to search for places to unravel and unburden. When he kneads into her thick thighs more than sound leaves her as a few muted curses groan out.

“A possible choice, although your leanings towards actions might suggest something else. A warrior then, quickly rising in the ranks to become a general at the head of a fine army, feared and formidable. You would parade victorious through the avenues, showered with praise and petals.”

It is her turn to laugh, a rumble that’s stuck somewhere. The flattery is pretentious and yet it would be futile to deny the charm of it - he obviously knows her better than that. “A pretty picture. Why stop there though? What is a governor or a general to a queen? Why not a warrior queen? Why not a god?”

His fingers pause for just a moment, but the act is lost as she stretches like a well cared for cat, the last of her tension seeming to seep out of her bones and float away. Solas clears his throat and continues. “As I said, limitless possibilities.”

“And unlimited danger.”

“True. Through my journeys I have glimpsed countless kings fattened upon power, lusting for more that they cannot hold and do not deserve. Men thinking themselves gods above all others, Corypheus our latest example. It would be a matter of will and imagination that would see the strongest rise to power, those with conviction and integrity to keep it without disastrous consequence.” 

She reaches back and runs her fingers over his cheek, grasps onto the back of his neck as he peppers hers with lazy kisses. “What would you choose to be?”

The answer comes slowly. Solas brings her hand to his lips, kisses the mark that’s quieted and crawled back into her veins for the meantime. At his touch a ripple runs down the length of it like excited lightning. It always reacts to him in such a manner and she’s never understood the cause - is it because he studied it so closely in Haven, or because he is the only one close enough to attempt such things now? It is only another mystery of her life left currently unsolved. 

“Would you believe I would wish to be as I am now?“

"Embroiled in conflict, chasing after a madman with the knife of the Chantry at your throat?” A smirk pulls at her lips. “Or ensconced with a beautiful woman?”

Solas chuckles. “I enjoy the freedom this life has afforded me. To be able to wander the world, stumbling upon hidden treasures and colorful tales, to slip into the intrigues of court for a time but not be bound by them. To be bound to nothing I would not choose for my own. It is a simple life, I think, and yet full. Perhaps as I travel, I could offer my expertise in return for necessities. I would require nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” She says, a hint of disbelief coloring her voice as she moves against him with purpose. 

He laces their fingers together, kisses edged in a smile across knuckles this time, and she swallows against a new sensation - no, not new, but something that’s grown within his embrace, and she has many doubts, many questions, but that this feeling is building in him as well is not one of them. “I admit the prospect now has less appeal if not coupled with present company.”

“Well, you cannot expect a queen to live like some vagabond upon the road.”

“I doubt I would be so well suited to kinghood.”

She turns in his arms then, water sloshing as she straddles hips. It is with a playful threat she presses close even as she lifts herself higher, royalty glancing down and passing swift judgement. “I do not need a king.”

Eyes regard her carefully, softening with pride, something she understands, and something like remorse, a thing she has yet to understand from him, but it seems as old as the stones of Skyhold. “No, you do not.”

It is her turn to offer comfort, fingers pushing up his chest and over arms, up to the smooth skin of his scalp. Those watchful eyes close, head tilting back to rest against the bath as she massages in sweeping circles he adores. After a few minutes, she lets her thumbs brush against the tips of his ears a few times and blush blooms across his cheeks, a pleased hum escaping like a secret, and she keeps her amusement to herself. His throat is bared for sharp teeth to take advantage, heartbeat there for her to claim, and it is a trust she cannot break. 

So she kisses him instead, lightly above his pulse and across his chin before mouths meet. “I am sure we could come to some ideal arrangement that would appeal to us both.”

And it is not only in some hypothetical wonderland she speaks of - it is the now as well, between the roving apostate of solitude and a Dalish who wants for roots, of the _after_  and where it will see them. Since the Breach it has been one day at a time, one breath and praying for another, but now she hopes for more than surviving, dreams of days beyond this and hardly knows where to start except for knowing she wants him there with her. 

Solas takes his time in answering again, gaze lifting heavy like it is a battle to open the gates, a war that she suspects she is part of the cause and yet it is not her own to fight. A hand covers hers, tightens after a moment of decision. “I would…like that.”

“Good.” It is not a declaration or a promise from him, only a chance for something waiting beyond the end, a hope that they might reach it together, and that is all she can ask for in this world. It is enough, for now. 


End file.
